


No Way At All

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Masturbation in Shower, Roommates, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9519839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Back in their Mercy West days, before they really knew each other, Jackson and April had no idea what they would become to each other. In the beginning, they were barely friends. That is, until Jackson starts to see her in an entirely new way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Can't stay away from Japril for long ;) there is slight canon-divergence regarding their living situation (I know at one point April lived with only Reed,) but for this one-shot, change was necessary. Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to review!

Moving to Seattle from Boston, I always thought that finding housing would be easier than it had proven to be. After weeks of hotel-hopping, though, I finally settled down into a rented house that I share with three of my fellow interns at Mercy West. My bedroom is the bottom floor, Charles Percy’s on the second floor, and the two girls’ - April and Reed - are on the top. We somehow managed to find a place that was affordable for all of us, though for me it admittedly wasn’t that hard because money is not a place in life where I tend to struggle.

It was hardest to convince April, the petite, perky brunette, to move in here with all of us. Namely, Charles and me, specifically because of our gender. When he brought it up amongst the group, I saw her eyes flit to Reed looking dubious. But, monetarily, it was a steal. And she ended up going for it.

For most of the night, I’ve been alone in this big place, watching TV on the couch by myself. When I hear the front door open, I turn my head to check who it is and see April walking in, looking flustered. There aren't many times where she doesn’t look flustered; it’s just a certain quality that she has about her. She always seems to be carrying too many things, have too much to get done, and not enough time.

“Hey,” she says, sounding breathless. She drops armfuls of plastic grocery bags to the hardwood floor and pulls her red notebook out from under her armpit. “Can you help me with…?” She gestures to the mess of bags she just let go of and looks at me with raised eyebrows.

I heave my body up from the couch. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” I say, and walk over to her. She’s scribbling something in her notebook; that notebook that I haven’t seen her without since we started our internship. “You writing a journal entry about the groceries?” I ask, lightly ribbing her.

She looks at me with low-set eyebrows and a grimace on her lips, then pulls the notebook to her chest protectively. “No,” she says, glancing repeatedly towards the floor and then back up at me.

“A song about the groceries then,” I say, throwing the words over my shoulder as I walk to the kitchen with as many bags that will fit in two hands.

I hear her giggle, though she tries to hide it. “No,” she repeats, and sets the bags that she carried on the kitchen island next to mine. “Why are you so nosey?”

“Just a curious sort,” I say, pulling a container of hummus from one of the bags and depositing it in the fridge.

“Oh, you don’t have to…” she says, tucking the notebook into her purse. “I can unpack.”

“I’m here, I might as well,” I say. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“April,” I say, and there’s a beat in the homey kitchen where her name just rings through the empty air. I’m sure I’ve said it out loud before, but I can’t clearly remember any time before now. It’s a nice name. “You went and got all these groceries for us. Would you relax?”

“I…” She tries to counter me, but ultimately closes her mouth. “Sure,” she says, then sits on a stool at the counter to watch me unload.

“And I mean, I haven’t moved from that spot on the couch all day, pretty much,” I say, leaning on the fridge door to slide yogurt onto the middle shelf. “So my muscles thank you.”

“Well,” she says, giggling again. It sounded like she was going to start a sentence, but she never finishes.

“Well, what?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘well.’ Were you going to say something else?”

A violent blush floods her cheeks and creeps all the way to the tips of her ears; the ears that her mahogany hair is curled meticulously behind. I’m not sure why the sudden flush, but it makes me smile nonetheless. “No,” she says, looking down at the counter to trace the grains in the wood.

I chuckle out loud and her head snaps up defensively. I put my palms up, showing that I mean no harm, and do my best at a kind smile. I don’t want her to feel threatened.

After all the groceries are put away, I sit down on the stool next to her. “I’m starving,” I say, my hand to my stomach.

She makes a move to get up. “I can cook,” she says. “What sounds good?”

I scrunch up my eyebrows. “No...you’re not gonna do that.”

“Yeah, I can,” she says. “I just got all this stuff. No reason for me not to.”

I sigh. “I’m not gonna make you do that. Why don’t we just go somewhere? We can go to Joe’s and grab something to eat there.” She eyes me like she’s trying to size me up. “What?”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you playing some sort of joke on me?” she asks. “Because it’s not very funny.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She braces her palms on the counter. “Inviting me out.” She sighs. “Look, I get it. I’m like, the neurotic, control-freak, type A kind of person here. People aren’t crazy about me. That’s okay, all right? I’m used to it. But if you’re, like... playing a trick on me by pretending to be my friend to get a laugh out of Charles…” She looks around like she’s searching for a hidden camera. “That’s not very kind. And it’s not funny. I never did anything to you.”

“I know you didn’t,” I say, studying her. “I’m not playing a trick. God, no. That’s...really awful.”

She purses her lips and tips her head to one side. “Okay, well, you don’t have to feel bad for me, either. If you think you’re helping out a charity case by, you know, asking me to Joe’s. I’m fine just hanging out here by myself. I wanted to be on-call tonight, but Reed and Charles got picked instead. And I already thought ahead and knew you wouldn’t want to be here with just me. I tried to make that not happen. But it did anyway. So you don’t have worry about it, okay? We can just be in our two separate parts of the house, just existing. You don’t have to reach out to me because you feel like you have to.”

“April…” I begin, shaking my head. “It’s seriously not like that. I was inviting you out so we could both have something to do. I mean, we live together, so I kind of figured that the whole ‘friends’ thing comes along with that. Kind of by default.”

She pinches her lips in a subtle way, and I don’t miss the tiny twitch of her right eyebrow, either. “Friends?” she asks, like I’ve just spoken in a foreign language. “You consider me a friend.” There’s no upward lilt to her words like that of a normal question, but it’s disbelieving all the same.

“Yeah,” I say. “Is that so crazy?”

“I…” She looks troubled now and doesn’t seem to know what to say. “I guess not.”

“Okay,” I say, smiling again. “Then let’s get out of here.”

 

When we get to Joe’s, it’s busy and loud, which is just how I like it. I have a grin on my face upon walking in, but can practically feel the tension wafting off of April in droves. She keeps her purse clutched tight to her chest with taut fingers, and keeps looking around like someone is about to jump her.

“Breathe,” I tell her once we sit down at the bar. “We’re here to unwind, let loose a little. No work tomorrow for either of us. You should order a drink.”

“Order a drink?” she asks over the noise, like she’s asking for my permission.

“Just relax,” I say. “What do you like?”

“Beer,” she says off-handedly. “Anything, I guess.”

 I take it upon myself to order for her and discover that after a couple beers, she finds it within herself to let go a little. She puts her purse on the floor and opens up her body language, then starts joking with me about things that I’ve never heard her bring up before, like how scary the Chief of Surgery is at Mercy West or how Charles can barely fit through the bathroom door downstairs because of how tall he is.

After four or five beers, she starts laughing at nearly everything I say. Without holding back, either. Before now, I’d only heard her giggle and most of the time, nervously at that. But now, she opens her mouth wide and throws her head back in full-out belly laughs, and I can’t help but smile and stare at her as she does so. Seeing her so carefree has definitely made me like her more, that’s undeniable. Other people at the hospital wouldn’t be so annoyed with her if they could just see her like this.

After she started slurring her words, I decided to lay off the drinks and deem myself her designated driver. “Why don’t you have something?” she asks, elbowing her beer bottle out of the way and pointing a finger in my direction. “You told me to drink. And now you’re not drinking.” Her words become increasingly more run-together, but I’m finding it pretty funny.

“I think you’ve downed enough for the both of us,” I say, pulling her wrist back down to the bar so her finger is out of my face.

“Hey,” she says, faking offense. “Can I get one more?” she asks Joe, and when he turns around to grab her one, she shoots her arms up in the air in a victory pose and then falls straight off the back of her barstool.

“Shit,” I curse, and then hurry to the floor to pick her up off of it. “Scratch that last beer, Joe,” I say, putting down some cash to cover our tab. “She’s good.”

 “I’m fine,” she says, dusting herself off, her pride not bruised whatsoever. “Just let me get back up there…”

“No, no, no ‘back up there’ for you,” I say, attempting to guide her by her shoulders. “We’re going home. Thanks, Joe.”

He waves us goodbye, and April wiggles her fingers at him over my shoulder as I usher her out. “I wasn’t really ready to leave, you know,” she says, under her breath like she’s afraid of someone else hearing. Suddenly, everything is an extremely hilarious secret.

“Well, I didn’t want you falling off any more stools,” I say. 

“Yeah, my ass says thank you,” she says, and then busts up giggling. She leans her full weight against my side and although she’s being extremely difficult, I can’t find it within myself to be annoyed. I’ve taken care of plenty of drunk people before, and she’s nowhere near the worst, but she was right earlier. We hardly know each other. Yet somehow, I feel no remorse for suggesting that we do this tonight, even though I’ve now morphed into her caretaker. “My ass says thank you,” she squeezes out again as best she can through her laughter.

I help her into the passenger’s seat. “Tell it that it’s welcome,” I say, and that gets her even more. I help her buckle in and she doubles over so her forehead hits her knees, hardly able to catch her breath.

“You’re so funny, Jackson,” she says, and a small buzz courses through me hearing her say my name. “You’re really, really funny. Maybe you should not be a doctor. Maybe you should be a...what’re they called? Joke people. You know, those joke people.”

“Comedians,” I offer.

“Yes!” she says triumphantly, pointing that finger in the air again. “You should be a comedian. Yeah, you’d be great. I’d come to your open mics.” She gasps. “Oh, no. Do you get stagefright?”

I chuckle as I make a right turn into our neighborhood. “No,” I say. “I’m good under pressure.”

She scoffs and blows air through her lips. “Figures,” she says. “A body like that and a face like yours, I bet you’re used to the attention.” She leans one elbow heavy on the center console. “I bet you had all the girls in school. Oh, I would’ve hated you so much. You know that? _Hated_ you, all because I wouldn’t have had a chance of you ever even seeing me.” She guffaws. “Little nerdy old me. If you even believe it, I was even worse in high school than I am now. Picture it. Bushy, frizzy hair. Wire-rimmed glasses. Acne. Braces.” She throws herself back against the seat as we pull up in the driveway and lets out a long wail. “I’m not an ugly duckling anymore!” she insists.

“No, you’re not,” I say, coming around to her side and opening the door. “Come on. Let's get you inside, swan.”

“Swan.” She repeats the word and laughs at it. “Swan.”

We get inside the house by some miracle, as April can still barely support herself on her own two feet. She sits on the bottom step and works on her shoe, and even after I come back from the kitchen with a glass of water, she still hasn’t undone the first lace.

“Here, let me do it,” I say, and kneel down. “If you keep at it, we’re gonna be here all night.”

She laughs. “Your hair is very dark,” she says.

“Thank you?”

“Anytime,” she says, and lays back on the stairs. As I tug on her shoelace, which she had apparently tied with the strength of ten men, she slips down one. It doesn’t faze her whatsoever. Keeping true to form, she laughs at herself and then throws her arms over her face.

Once I get her shoes off, I help her sit up and then hand her the glass of water. “Drink this,” I say. “You need something in your system other than whatever that ale was.”

She takes a sip. “Strong,” she says.

“What, the water?”

 “Ale,” she says, and glugs down more water. She comes up for air and raises her glass with her eyes closed. “Cheers,” she says, spiritedly.

 I knock my fist with her glass. “Cheers,” I say back, chuckling.

 I sit with her on the stairs while she finishes the water, and then help her try to stand. She leans on me for support, her knees wobbling even under her slight weight. “Did you know that this house can actually spin?” she asks, widening her green eyes at me. “Amazing. All for such a low price.”

I sigh, albeit good-naturedly. “Okay, sit.” I push gently on her shoulders and she goes back down. “Here’s the plan. There’s no way you can get up to the third floor tonight, even with me helping you.”

“You’re so right,” she says, eyes closing.

“And when Percy gets off work, he’s going to collapse on the couch. He always does. He can never make it to his room, and I guarantee you he’s not watching where he lands. So if you sleep on the couch, you’re gonna get crushed.”

 She forms her lips into a tight ‘O’ shape. “Ouchie,” she says. “Pancake.”

“So I’m gonna go upstairs and get whatever pajamas you want me to, and bring them back down here,” I say.

“And I’ll sleep in the tub,” she says, nodding firmly.

 “No...” I say, creasing my eyebrows.

She widens her eyes with fear. “The porch?”

“April, no. Stop,” I say, lightly rolling my eyes. “We can share my bed.”

Her eyes widen all over again. “Whoa, whoa, big boy.”

“Shut up, not like that,” I say. “My bed’s huge.”

“ _My bed’s huge_ ,” she imitates, in a high-pitched tone that’s meant to be scathing. “No way, Jackson. I can't. Against the rules.”

“Against the rules to literally lay next to someone else and shut your eyes for hopefully eight hours?” I ask.

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I can make it upstairs on my own. I promise... I'm fine. Just watch me.”

She plants both hands on the railing and starts scaling it like a mountain, but doesn't get far at all before falling right back down on her ass.

“You’re not gonna make it anywhere,” I say. “I’m not trying to pull anything funny or be gross or anything like that. April, I swear.”

She raises her eyebrows and points at me. Her signature move. “Okay. Fine. You better not. Because,” she lifts her finger to point up at the ceiling. “The man upstairs is _watching_.”

I look at her confusedly. “Percy…?”

“No, silly,” she says, pushing on my chest. “ _Jesus_.”

“Oh, right,” I say, and then stand. “Anyway, what pajamas?”

She thinks for way too long. So long, that I almost ditch her there and go pick them out for myself. “Long gray pants with pink hearts. Pink long sleeved shirt with gray sleeves. Please and thank you, eenie-meenie-miny-mo.”

“Okay...” I say, and shake my head at her where she still lays on the stairs. I repeat the words to myself as I go up two flights of steps, thinking I’ll need to dig through her dresser to find long gray pants with pink hearts and a pink long sleeved shirt with gray sleeves, but I find the matching set already laid out on her bed. Figures.

I go back downstairs and see that she hasn’t moved. “Time to change,” I say, and help her up. “Are you gonna be okay changing by yourself?”

She holds the pajamas close to her chest. “You can’t _see_ me,” she says, sounding horrified. “I’m going into the bathroom and locking the door, you nasty boy.”

After she closes the door, I repeat under my breath, “Nasty boy. Okay.”

She comes out looking cozy and smelling like toothpaste. “Even brushed my teeth,” she says. “My toothbrush is upstairs, though. So I kind of used whoever’s is in there.” She stumbles past me and I peer around the corner, not surprised to see that she’d used mine. Great.

I follow her loud footsteps and turn on the light to my room, only to find that she’s not in there. “April?” I call out.

“Very dark,” she says, sounding genuinely confused. “Also very small. Where’s that big bed, braggadocio?”

I have no idea what she just called me, but I flick on the light to the hall closet to see that she’s wandered in there instead of one door over, which is my room. “Turn around, dummy,” I say, and she does. “This way.”

“I almost fell asleep in the hall closet like Harry Potter,” she says, whispering again like it’s a secret. She sits down on my bed and then pulls back the covers, making herself comfortable on the side I don’t usually sleep on. I get changed in the bathroom and come back out wearing sweatpants and a soft gray t-shirt.

My bedside lamp, the only lamp, is still turned on when I lay down next to her. I plunk my head on the pillow and see that she’s looking at me; her eyes half-lidded and blinking slowly. “If I hadn’t made a promise to Jesus, I’d totally have sex with you right now,” she says, her voice still so slurred.

Her words practically gut me. I try not to react, though, because I know it’s the alcohol speaking. But against my will, I feel myself start to get the slightest bit hard. _No, no, no_ , I command myself. _Do not think about it. Do not picture her_. But I’m already there. It takes my brain less than a full second to picture April’s body keening under my own, wearing nothing but a black set of bra and underwear. With her hair fanned out on the pillow, I can picture myself pushing inside her and the way her mouth would fall open from the feel of it, the way her soft breasts would feel in my hands fitting just perfectly, the way my name would sound as she forced it out of her mouth when she came…

I shake my head. I’m fully hard now. This is not okay.

“Okay, April,” I say, in a tone that lets her know I’m writing her off. I even add an eyeroll in there, too.

“No, I mean it,” she insists, rolling over onto her back with her arms splayed above her. _No, no, not that position._ I will her to move, but she stays. She takes in a deep breath, and I watch her collarbone become more prominent, and then fade away again. I don’t want to let myself, but my eyes drift lower and I can see the pricks of her nipples through the thin pink material of her shirt; tiny, but definitely there. “Right here, on this bed and everything.” 

I dart my eyes away. “That’s very nice of you,” I say, scoffing. 

“I know,” she says, and giggles. Her eyes had been closed, but she opens them again to look into mine. “You have beautiful eyes,” she tells me.

I close them. With a slight smile, I say, “Goodnight, April.”

“Just telling you.”

“Goodnight, April.”

I keep my eyes closed, but she falls asleep first. I hear her breath start to come easier and deeper when she goes, and then I debate slipping off into the bathroom to get rid of what I did to myself by thinking about her. But how awful would that be? To jerk off to thoughts about April, then come back to my bed that she’s innocently sharing with me? No, I won’t do it. I refuse to stoop that low.

I roll over onto my opposite side, faced away from her. I’m still hard and nothing about that is changing, no matter what I force myself to think about. The only image that will conjure itself up in my mind is that of her, in much less clothing than her heart-covered pajama set, soberly wanting to have sex with me. The thought won’t leave my mind.

It feels like hours pass before I finally give in and get up out of bed. April doesn’t so much as stir when I leave and shut the door to the bathroom, and I’m glad for that. I lock it behind me, just in case, and turn the shower on so I can quickly get in. It’s a better excuse, at least.

I could have almost any girl I want, but she’s the one - suddenly - that’s doing this to me? I shake my head and chastise myself for it. I don’t want her. Up until today I’d tolerated her at best, and now I can’t stop fantasizing about her. What is that? What is wrong with me?

With my forehead pressed against the shower wall and the water beating strong onto my shoulders, I jerk off thinking about how her face would look when she comes. How tight she’d feel as I went inside her. I don’t ruin my fantasy by letting reality creep in; I know full well that we’ll never sleep together, because of her whole Jesus thing. But even though that doesn’t matter in the moment that I come and let out a low moan that I’m hoping can’t be heard over the water, it matters a lot the moment I come down from my orgasm. The real world comes rushing back in and I feel instant shame for what I’ve done. I scrub my body with body wash and dry off, getting back into the same pajamas from earlier before I walk back into my room.

When I see April still sleeping soundly in my bed, I feel the heavy weight of guilt on my back. I just reduced her to a sexual object in the deepest pits of my mind, and now I’ll never be able to look at her and not think about that. She will never know, that’s for sure, but I always will.

 I slide in next to her and curse myself for what I just did. I’m not a pervert. I don’t know what’s come over me.

 

When I wake up the next morning, I feel the warmth of a body next to mine. I feel hands on me. I feel soft hair tickling the underside of my chin and soft breath puffing onto my cheek. For a brief moment, I forget what all last night entailed, but when I open my eyes it all comes back.

April has her head on my shoulder and one arm wrapped around my stomach, her fingers loose and lax on my ribcage. Her whole body is pressed up against mine; from her stomach that I can feel moving in and out with her breaths along my side, to her legs which are tangled up in mine under the covers.

My eyes widen as I stare down at her, then I shift my gaze to the ceiling. I adjust my shoulder for comfort, but just that subtle motion is enough to wake her up. I hear her take in a deep breath through her nose and then can feel her eyelashes batting against my jaw as she orients herself.

“Oh…” she mutters, and then says it again. “Oh, my god.” Her body separates from mine quicker than if I’d burned her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jackson,” she says, covering face with her hands. “I have this thing, I always hold pillows at night. I’m always cuddling something. And you...oh god, you…”

I chuckle. “It’s okay,” I say. “No hard feelings.” _Hard_ feelings. Funny. Little does she know.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, and when she speaks, her voice is low and wary. “Last night…” she begins. “We didn't…?”

I shake my head vehemently. “No. No. Nothing happened. Just… sleeping.”

“Oh, right,” she says. “I remember.” I'm not sure if she's trying to convince herself or me that she remembers, but I know I don't believe her.

She lays there and blinks up at the ceiling fan. I can’t help but watch her; usually when I see her in the mornings she’s already put together and ready for work with her hair brushed and makeup on. So seeing her like this is completely new for me, and I can’t complain. Her hair is mussed, her eyes are bleary with sleep, and she looks more endearing than I ever thought she would. I never thought I’d ever think of April this way.

Even as the thoughts filter through my mind, I try and convince myself that they aren’t real. This is April we’re talking about. Neurotic, control-freak, type-A April who’s a know-it-all and has to be the boss of everything. There’s no way I feel anything towards her besides annoyance and slight friendship.

There’s no way.

No way at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part 2 to this little universe was requested, so I couldn't help myself. Hope you enjoy!!

“I should… I should get up,” April says, but makes no moves to pull the covers back. 

She’s staring at the ceiling, probably trying to recall last night. I’m doing everything I can to forget it - I’m still mortified at the fact that I got up, jerked off while thinking about fucking her, and came back into bed with her none the wiser. It was such a pig move. And I’m not that guy. 

As I lay here now, my dick isn’t controlling my thoughts. Now, I’m studying the slopes of her face, gentler than I’ve ever noticed. She has light freckles on her skin, darker ones placed singularly in random places. Something inside tells me to reach out and touch them, but I ignore that impulse. She’d be totally freaked out. For good reason.

“No work today,” I say, trying to sound casual. “If you don’t feel like getting up yet, you don’t have to.” 

She turns her head to look at me, and I can’t read the expression painted on her face. She looks back to the ceiling before I have much time to decode it, then sits up with her feet on the floor, back towards me. 

“I have errands to run,” she says, standing. I sit up and watch her cross the room, pulling at her clothes with discomfort. “I don’t want to wait too long to start.” She pauses at my closed bedroom door, hand braced on it. “I… uh, I’m sorry. Again. For acting like an idiot last night, and-and making you take care of me. That was totally not okay. It was so unlike me. I don’t know where it came from, and I’m really sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” I say. “It was fun.” 

“Yeah, right,” she says. “I don’t get drunk often, and now you know why.” 

“You found me really funny,” I say. “That was a confidence-booster for sure. So I’m not sure why you don’t drink more. I could use the ego boost.” 

She rolls her eyes. “As if,” she says. “You’re the last person who needs that.” 

I lean back against the headboard. “You last night would disagree,” I say. “You told me I should become a comedian.” 

She turns the doorknob. “I…” Her face blushes a brilliant red. “I don’t wanna know anything more I said. Okay? It’ll just embarrass me. Please, just forget all of it.” 

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” I say, tipping my head to the side. 

She sighs, defeated, and opens the door. And standing right in front of it, fist poised to knock, is Charles. When he sees April about to exit, his eyes grow to the size of dinner plates and he takes a step back in shock. 

“Oh… my…” he says, eyes flitting between the two of us. “I was gonna ask if you had a towel I could borrow, but if you’re busy…” 

April gasps. “I was just leaving,” she says, and tries to push past him. He’s way too big, though, and he traps her in the doorway. 

Charles looks at me conspiratorially and nods. “Nice, man,” he says. “I didn’t expect… you two, honestly, but nice. Did you get it in?” 

“That’s disgusting!” April says, voice shrill.

I can’t help but take that blow. Disgusting, the idea of sex with me is disgusting now? 

“No, we didn’t,” she continues. “We didn’t ‘get it in,’ and anyway, that’s so inappropriate.” 

“You don’t have to be ashamed, Kepner,” he says. “It’s a natural human thing. No reason why you shouldn’t be doing it. Honestly, it’d loosen you up a little bit. You need some dick in your life.” 

She gasps again, face turning pink. “I can’t hear this anymore,” she says, and shoves her way through. 

“No reason to be embarrassed!” Charles calls after her, then turns back to me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Seriously, dude? You got hard for that?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say, getting out of bed. “Nothing happened.”

“Shit,” he says. “You tried, and you got blue-balled? By  _ her _ ? That’s even worse. Imagine how low her standards are. That would’ve made me feel like shit.” 

I frown at him. “Number one, quit insulting her. You’re being a dick. She’s actually pretty cool, once you get to know her. If you’d actually listen to her once in awhile, she’s smart as hell. Smarter than me and you put together. And she’s funny, too. She has this really silly, goofy-ass sense of humor.”

Charles eyes me. “So you have a thing for her,” he says. 

I shake my head adamantly. “No,” I say firmly. “No, I don’t. I’m just saying that you should start treating her like a person. Then maybe she won’t annoy you so much.”

“So I’m supposed to pretend to believe that you don’t have the world’s biggest crush on that weirdo,” he says. 

“No more calling her weird,” I say, walking into the hallway and feeling him follow me. “She’s not that bad. We’re friends.” 

“With benefits,” he adds. 

“I already told you, we didn’t do anything,” I say. “She was drunk off her ass last night, and couldn’t get upstairs. So I let her sleep with me.” 

“What was so wrong with the couch?” he asks. 

I turn back and look at him with a pointed expression. “Where’d you sleep last night?” 

He nods, seeing my point. “But still,” he says. “That was a good excuse to share a bed with your little girlfriend.” 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re acting like you’re 12. April and I are friends. Nothing more.” 

“Nothing less,” he chimes in, then heads off in a different direction. “Good luck with those feelings, Jack-man.”

I go for a run and leave my earphones in when I come back, music blasting as I pause by the front door, bent over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. 

I’m in my own world as I traipse through the house, Khalid blasting so loud I can’t hear my own thoughts, and make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I go through the entryway, April is standing at the kitchen sink and she jumps when she sees me. 

I yank my earphones out to find her already talking. 

“... didn’t hear you come in, I must have been zoning out. You scared me.” 

Her hair is wet, fresh from a shower, and she smells like lavender shampoo. She’s not wearing any makeup, completely natural, and I notice for the first time that she’s pretty. She’s not mousy, not nerdy, not unfortunate like everyone at the hospital says. She has big, luminous green eyes that are framed by long, dark eyelashes, the freckles I was focused on this morning are brought out by the clean shine of her skin. Her perfect pink lips are bow-shaped, and she wets them before speaking again. 

“Jackson?” she says, leaning her weight against the sink. “You there?”

I shake my head and return to earth. “What? Uh, yeah,” I stammer. “Just came in for some water.” 

She shuffles sideways to give me enough room. But I accidentally bump her, anyway, when I go to reach for a glass. 

“Sorry,” I say, backing away. “I’m sweaty.” 

“I-I don’t mind,” she says, looking down at the floor. “It’s just sweat.” 

“Hot out there,” I say, coming up for air after a long drink. 

“I can see that,” she says, cautiously scanning me with her eyes. 

“You run?” I ask, leaning my palm on the counter to face her. 

She shakes her head. “Oh, no way,” she says. “Sometimes, I do yoga. I haven’t in awhile, I’m out of practice. But any other exercise… no. I’m not sporty. If you couldn’t tell.”

I let my eyes graze down her body and hope she doesn’t notice. I can’t help but picture her in yoga clothes - tight black leggings and a sports bra. I have no doubt she’d look amazing. 

I have to get out of this room. 

“I-I gotta go shower,” I say, pointing my thumb behind me. “I’m disgusting. I’ll see you around.”

She raises her hand in a curt wave and smiles with her lips closed. I retreat to my bathroom on the first floor and turn the lock, stripping down to nothing as the water warms up.

I don’t know where all this came from. A few days ago, April was invisible. And now, she’s invading my every waking thought. 

I use my time in the shower to clear my head and calm my thoughts down, and it does the job pretty well. When I come out, I feel more like myself. More in control of my life. 

But that changes when I bump into her in the hallway, wearing only a towel around my waist, as she heads towards the stairs.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry!” she exclaims, and drops what she’d been holding. 

“Oh shit. I didn’t look where I was going, it’s fine,” I say, and bend to pick up what she dropped. It’s her little red notebook, and I can’t resist. “Writing a poem about me?” I ask, ribbing her. 

She snatches it back. “No,” she says, defensively. “Not everything in the world is about you.” 

I raise my eyebrows, impressed by her candor. “Way to put me in my place,” I say, my tone of voice much more benign. 

Her shoulders deflate. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just… I kind of freak out when I get teased. I’m not used to it in such a… friendly way, I guess.” 

Now, I feel bad. She’s so used to being bullied that her first instinct is to react, to fight back, to stick up for herself. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m an ass. If you want me to stop teasing you, I will.” 

“No,” she responds, very quickly. She meets my eyes for a second before flitting away. “I-I don’t mind. It’s different when you do it,” she says. “Really.” 

I chuckle, feeling a little self-conscious as my stomach twirls. I feel like I’m flirting with my first crush. This is so not okay.

“Alright,” I say. “But just remember, we’re friends.” 

“You and me?” she asks, sounding incredulous. 

I furrow my eyebrows. “Who else, the mouse in your pocket?” She giggles and presses her lips together. “Yes,” I say. “Me and you.” 

We go back to work the next day, and I do my best to keep up with all the intern work. It’s a lot to handle, and my lunch break is the best part of my day because I actually get a chance to sit down and breathe. I’m working all night tonight, and after I take a look at the board I see that April is, too. 

“Long night ahead of us,” I say, when I catch her near the nurses’ station. 

She jumps and looks over her shoulder, then presses a hand to her heart. “You have to stop doing that,” she says, sighing. “Scaring me. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.” 

I chuckle and take a big bite of the apple I took from my lunch. 

“And chewing in my ear!” she says, and bats me away. “Some of us are actually trying to focus here.” 

“And some of us can multitask,” I say, leaning on the counter. “Did you see? We’re workin’ together tonight.” 

“Joy,” she says under her breath, but she can’t keep the smirk off her lips. 

I snatch the tablet out of her hands. “Don’t pretend like you’re not excited,” I say, and she turns around with her hands planted on her hips. 

“Give it back,” she says. “I was in the middle of something.” 

“Are you happy to work with me?” I ask.

“No, because you steal my stuff,” she says, and stretches for it as I hold it just out of her reach.

“I’ll give it back when you say it,” I say.

“I won’t,” she says. 

“Say it, or this case is mine,” I taunt. 

“You wouldn’t steal my patient,” she says, eyes narrowing.

“Watch me,” I say. “Let me just-” 

“Kepner! Avery!” Both of us snap to attention as our resident approaches us, looking evil as ever. I’ve been on her good side so far, but it looks like that’s changed. “I’ve been paging you for at least two minutes. Too busy to respond? Shall I look for someone else to scrub in on the appendectomy?” 

“No, ma’am,” I say, quickly handing the tablet back to April. “I’m sorry. I’m ready.”

“Me, too,” April says, clicking a few buttons as she finishes up what she’d been doing. “I’m ready, too.” 

“That’s more like it,” our resident says. “Go get scrubbed in. OR 3. I’ll meet you there.”

The two of us exchange a look, then hurry off down the hallway. 

Mine and April’s schedules are relatively the same, and completely the opposite of Charles and Reed’s. So when the two of us are home, they’re gone. And vice versa. 

We worked an overnight and then through the next day. Somehow I found the energy to drive us home, then slept through the entire next day. 

When I wake up, I hear sounds coming from the kitchen. It’s dark outside, and it takes me a second to figure out if it’s 7am or 7pm. I come to the conclusion that it’s evening, and the sounds I hear are that of April making dinner.

I trudge out of my room, scratching my stomach and blinking tiredly. I’m not entirely woken up yet, so I squint at the yellow light that’s coming from the kitchen when I walk in there to see what’s going on. 

“Morning,” April says, turning around with a plate of spaghetti in her hands. “Made us some dinner.” 

“Weird choice of words,” I say groggily. “You didn’t have to.” 

“I was up, and I knew you’d be hungry,” she says. “I am, too. So… ready to eat?”

I’m not about to say no to that. I take the plate and sit at the dinner table in my pajamas, and notice that she’s in loungewear, too. 

“When did you get up?” I ask, becoming more alive as I twirl noodles around my fork. 

“Maybe two hours ago,” she says, after she chews.  “I cleaned and then cooked. It was kinda nice to have some alone time.” 

“Because I’m always breathing down your neck?” I ask. 

She rolls her eyes. “Basically.” 

We finish dinner, exchanging conversation about the long shifts we’ve finished and telling stories about surgeries we’ve seen and ones that we hope to. When I’m done eating, I’m full and happy and more awake than ever. And I want to spend time with her.

Out of the hospital. At home. Like friends. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” I ask, sauntering up behind her as she cleans up the table. “Also, you don’t have to do that. You cooked.”

She wipes her hands on a dish towel. “Already done,” she says. 

“Geez,” I say. “What can’t you do? You cook, you clean…” 

“I’m also your friend…” 

I snort. “Yeah, that too.” 

“But yeah,” she says, leaving the kitchen. “I’ll watch a movie. What were you thinking?” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Have you seen ‘I Am Sam’?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No way. That one makes me cry. And then I can’t stop.”

“Okay…” I say. “One that doesn’t make you cry. How about ‘Titanic’?” 

“Talk about making me cry!” she exclaims. “You’re horrible at this. What about ‘Sleepless in Seattle’?” She gives me a winning smile. “It’s fitting, at least.” 

I give in. There’s no way I can say no to that face. “Sure,” I say. “I’ll make some popcorn. Want a beer?” 

“No,” she says, eyes wide. “I’m off alcohol until further notice. I don’t want a repeat of the other night.” 

I bust up laughing. 

“Stop!” she says. “You’re making it worse.” 

“I’m not laughing at you,” I say. 

“What, you’re laughing  _ with _ me?” she says, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I was a big idiot.” 

I shake my head. “No,” I say. “Not an idiot. But you  _ were _ horny.”

Her eyes grow wide and her face turns a shade of red I’ve never seen on a human before. She covers it quickly with her hands and though I know I should feel guilty, I can’t stop laughing.

“Mortified,” she says. “I’m mortified.” 

“What?” I say, still chuckling. “Nothing wrong with it.” 

“Yes, there  _ is _ ,” she says. “I can’t believe… that I… no. Oh, my god.” She shakes her head. “With  _ you _ , of all people.” 

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been told I’m a…” She widens her eyes and clears her throat in substitution of saying the actual word. “Drunk.” 

“A horny one?” I fill in.

“Yes!” she hisses, and bats the air with her hand. “You don’t have to say it.” 

“So what, you’re a horny drunk?” I say. I’m playing it off cool, but my mind is going a thousand miles per hour as I learn this new information about her. I’d never take advantage of her while she was inebriated, but I imagine that if we were together, drunk sex with her would be a ton of fun. 

But I can’t think about that, because we’re not together. And we won’t ever be. We don’t like each other like that. We’re really good friends, and that’s it. 

“Who else has told you?” I ask, finding myself curious for some reason.

“Reed,” she scoffs. “The first night, after the intern gala. I had a little bit… too much, and was apparently going on and on about…  _ stuff _ .” 

I raise my eyebrows and sit down on the couch next to her after finding the DVD she wanted and popping it in. I realize I never went to get popcorn, but I don’t really want a bowl in the middle of us, anyway. 

“What kind of stuff?” I ask, resting one arm along the back of the couch. 

“I don’t remember,” she mutters. “And I told her not to specify. I don’t wanna know. I’d be so embarrassed.” 

“You wanna know what you said to me the other night?” I ask, pushing her buttons. 

Her face flames again. I don’t think I’ll get tired of seeing that. 

“I really don’t,” she mutters. 

“You told me you’d have sex with me,” I say, chuckling. 

Her face blanches. “I did not,” she says.

“You did,” I say. “More than once. You really insisted. You said that if you hadn’t made a promise to Jesus, you would.” 

She peeks at me from the corner of her eyes, looking like she wants to crawl into the floorboards. 

“And you also told me I have beautiful eyes,” I say, endcapping it. 

“Well, at least I complimented you,” she murmurs. 

“The sex thing was definitely a compliment, too,” I say. “I know you’re not the type to get in bed with just anyone.” 

She doubles over and covers her face again. “I cannot believe myself!” she shrieks. “That’s it. I’m never, ever drinking again.”

“Oh, whatever,” I say, clicking the ‘play’ button on the DVD’s main menu. “You’re fine. Everyone acts stupid when they’re drunk.” 

“Yeah, but not everyone tries so confidently to get their friends to sleep with them!” she says, settling back on the cushion. “I’m a mess.” 

“A nice mess,” I say, getting comfortable, too.

We watch the movie in silence for a while, and April is enraptured by it. I can tell that late 90’s romance is her shit, and I like watching her enjoy it so much. When she smiles and laughs, it’s genuine and for no one’s good but her own. I’m glad we ended up with this movie, because her happiness is contagious. 

“How many times have you seen this?” I ask, as we’re about halfway through. I’ve been watching her mouth the lines for awhile now. 

She looks at me, caught in the act. “Leave me alone,” she says, playfully.

“You’re a sap,” I say. 

“So are you,” she says. “You agreed to watch it. What self-respecting man would do that?”

I make a sound at her. “One who cares about his friend more than himself,” I say. 

She looks at me warmly. “Well, aren’t you sweet.” 

“Not a term I usually get described with, but I’ll take it,” I say, and realize that we’ve somehow ended up closer together on the couch than how we started. Now, my arm that’s resting along the back cushion is behind her head and our thighs are only inches apart. 

I can smell her shampoo - that same lavender I recognize. It’s getting inside my head and making me think crazy things. Crazy things like… I want to kiss her. 

I want to know what those pretty pink lips feel like pressed against mine. I want to hold her face in my hands and sneak my grip lower to rest on her hips, and hear the sounds she makes when I touch her. I want her to feel the way I know I can make her feel. I want her to surrender her body to me.

I want an outlet for these feelings. I wish there was some way to know if she feels the same way, or if I’m going totally insane.

She catches me staring at her when she turns her head to tell me something. The words catch in her throat and her mouth stays open, lips parted just enough. Her eyes roam my face, and the energy in the room alters. 

Something is about to happen. Both of us can feel it. 

When I lean my head closer to hers, she doesn’t flinch away. Her eyes dart to my mouth, then back up, then down again. She pulls her lower lip into her mouth and grazes over it with her teeth, then lets it pop out again as she takes in a tiny gasp of air. 

I lick my lips, too, then hold the back of her head with one hand. I watch her eyelashes flutter closed, and close mine too once our lips finally touch. 

It starts out slow and gentle, just how I’d guessed that April would kiss. Her hands are light and tentative on my biceps, shaky even, and her lips stay pressed together. 

My heart is beating like mad inside my chest, and when we pull away to take a breath, her pupils are fat. She stares at my mouth and bites her lip again, then pulls me closer by the collar of my shirt.

We fall forward on the couch so she’s pressed under me, and I situate myself between her parted thighs. I can feel every slope and ridge of her body beneath me, and I can’t get enough. I want to touch every inch, memorize it, get to know her in a way I never thought I would.

So I try and go slow. I kiss her languidly, fluidly, opening my mouth against hers and begging entrance for my tongue as I slide it along the seam of her lips. She grants it, sighing into my mouth as I slip one hand down to rest on the curve of her waist.

Her kisses remind me of honey. They’re slow and sweet, and I want to savor every drop. 

Her body trembles when I move my lips to her jawline, then below it to capture the pocket of skin beneath her earlobe. Her fingers dance on the back of my neck, unsure of where to land, and my tongue finds purchase on the swell of her throat. Her skin is soft and irresistible; I have to sink my teeth in. 

And I’m rewarded for it. She moans when I suck on her sensitive neck, and I hope I leave a hickey when I pull away. I want to see that mark on her in passing and know that it was me who did it, me who had her this way, me who made her so vulnerable. It was me who made her feel like this. 

I get goosebumps as she trails her fingers over the shells of my ears, and kiss her lips again. Her hips rise up to collide with mine, which makes my already-insistent boner even harder to ignore. I still try, though. I know it won’t be getting any attention tonight; at least not with her. I’ll have plenty to fantasize about later, we’re not about to have sex. But Jesus never frowned on a hot and heavy makeout session. 

I have my face buried in her neck again when the sound of the front door opening jolts me back into the real world. 

“I knew it! I told you, I knew it! Kepner and Avery are fucking!” 

We jolt away from each other, scrambling to opposite ends of the couch. April wipes the back of her mouth absentmindedly with one hand, and I try and hide my boner by holding a throw pillow on my lap. 

“I didn’t know you were into guys like him,” Reed says, throwing April a side-eye from the front door. 

I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I don’t think I like it. April’s lips are red and swollen, and I can’t help but stare at at them until she stands up to leave. 

“I-I…” she stammers, obviously not knowing what to say as Charles and Reed still stand close, mocking us. “I gotta go.” She hurries to the foyer, where she puts on a pair of flip-flops and disappears out the door. 

“You guys are assholes,” I say, flicking the movie off. “Seriously.” 

“What?” Reed says, in a singsong voice. “We didn’t mean any harm. Come on, she’s so easy to get riled up.” 

“Obviously in more ways than one,” Charles throws us.

“Yeah, and she’s also a person,” I say. “With feelings. And she doesn’t like being constantly made fun of. We… we had a nice night.”

Reed raises her eyebrows at the state of affairs between my legs as I stand. “I can see that,” she says. “We should’ve waited a while to come home. Would’ve been even nicer.” 

“It wasn’t like that,” I insist, but of course they don’t believe me. 

“If you pop Virgin Mary’s cherry, you gotta let me know how it is,” Charles says, under his breath after Reed walks into the kitchen. “I’m dying to know. I’ve never been with a virgin.”

I raise my lip. “Fuck off, dickhead,” I say, and stalk off to my room. 

I lie on my bed and wait for the sound of April coming home. I only relax after I hear the front door open and close, and the sound of her familiar, light footsteps ascending the stairs.

I don’t know where we would’ve ended up tonight had we not been interrupted, and now I might never find out. 

***

I wait around for April the next day so we can carpool, but she hasn’t appeared downstairs yet and we’re cutting it dangerously close if she takes any longer. Usually she’s the one waiting for me, so I have no clue what’s going on. 

I shoot her a text.

**U almost ready??**

She replies almost instantly.

**Im already at the hospital. I caught the bus this morning. Sry didnt tell you :/**

I frown at my phone, then bluster out the door. I can’t help feeling frustrated with her; we always carpool. If she decided she didn’t want to, she could have at least told me before jetting off on the bus. 

I start my shift in a bad mood because of it. I can’t stop thinking about last night, or the way April is acting now. I shoot her a smile when I realize we’re on the same case, but she avoids eye contact and trails our resident for the entire day. There’s not a single moment that I can get her alone, because she won’t let me. 

She does have a hickey on her neck, though. I can see she tried to hide it with makeup, but it didn’t quite work.

I’m unfocused and angry. I need to talk about what happened with her, she can only avoid me for so long. Finally, when the night shift starts and the hospital calms down, I find her in a hallway and yank her into a supply closet just as she’s about to turn and start power-walking the other way. 

“Just... April,” I say. “Give me a second. Please. Let me talk to you for one goddamned second.” 

Her adamant expression turns submissive, yet reproachful. 

“I know it was a mistake, okay?” she says, arms crossed over a clipboard as she leans against the door. “You don’t have to look for me all day just to tell me that. I know your… your boy hormones took over your brain and you had no control over what you were doing. You don’t have to explain it to me. I get it. I felt it, too. And I regret it, too. There was a moment, and we got caught up in it. It happens. Or at least, so I hear. And it finally did, to me. And to you. And it’s over now, and we can just pretend it never happened and go back to normal. I know that’s what you’re gonna say, so you don’t even have to say it. Okay? You don’t. It’ll just make things ten times more weird. I already know that it was a mistake.” 

A small sound comes from my throat, because she sucked up all the air in the room. That wasn’t what I was going to say at all, but now what I actually wanted to say doesn’t fit. She regrets it, she just said that.

I don’t, but now I won’t admit it. I won’t be the only one with feelings, pining after her like some idiot. That isn’t me. And she doesn’t want that, anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” I say, amending my words completely. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I like our friendship.” 

“So do I,” she says, solidifying the statement.

“So… friends,” I say, nodding with pursed lips. 

“Friends,” she agrees, and fakes a smile before leaving the supply closet to head back out into the hallway. But I stay. 

***

Things don’t go back to normal at the house. April and I dodge each other while pretending that we’re not. If she’s cooking dinner, I make it a point not to find something to eat until she’s done and out of the kitchen. If she’s watching TV, I study in my room. 

If I’m leaving for work, she’ll lag behind so she misses carpool. When I’m reading at the dining room table, she’ll go out for a long walk. 

We spent about five minutes being friends before it got ruined. I miss it, I miss her. I miss teasing her, I miss just being around her. She didn’t ask for much, and neither did I. We had a good thing going. 

And stupid feelings had to get in the way. 

I don’t want to go back to being friends with Charles. I’ve learned pretty quickly that he isn’t the nicest guy with the best intentions. That’s another good thing about April - she’s transparent. She doesn’t have ulterior motives, she isn’t manipulative, she doesn’t use people for her own personal gain. She couldn’t care less what my last name is. Charles, on the other hand, cares very much. 

And it’s getting old. 

I want her back. 

But I won’t make things weird and try to patch things up. She’s avoiding me, I’m avoiding her. It’s pretty obvious that a friendship isn’t in the cards for us anymore, and I have to accept that and let it go. 

I’ll probably move out sooner than later. It’s not pleasant to live here when one of my roommates hates me, the other is obsessed with me, and the other is never even around. 

I wish I knew what was going on in her mind. Being able to read her thoughts would make this so much easier. Did she really regret making out with me on the couch, or did she only say that because she thinks that I do? If I could just figure out that question, this whole thing could go away. We could either go our separate ways, or maybe become something more than just friends. 

But I can’t read her mind, so that can’t happen. I’m not about to come right out and ask. No way.

A week passes. I’m standing in the kitchen at the sink, looking out the window when I hear someone come in behind me. Assuming that it’s Charles, I don’t make a move to greet him.

“Um… ‘scuse me,” I hear, and recognize the little voice. 

April scoots past me to place a glass in the sink. 

“Dishwasher’s full,” she says. “So I just thought… I’m just gonna set it there ‘til it’s ready to be loaded.”

“That’s fine,” I say. I’m on dishwasher duty this week. 

She lingers, which is unusual. It wouldn’t be unusual for the version of her from a few weeks ago, but it is for this April. 

“How was your day?” she asks.

Now I know something is up. We haven’t made small talk in forever. She’s had no desire to. 

“Um… good,” I say, dryly. “Yours?”

“Good, too,” she says, shifting her weight from foot-to-foot. “I watched a heart transplant. It was really awesome.” 

I raise my eyebrows. “Damn,” I say. “How’d you get in on that?” 

“Got lucky, I guess,” she says. “Madden was in a good mood. I caught her at the right time.” 

“Nice,” I say. 

“Yeah.” 

Though our conversation has seemingly died, she still stays. I have no idea what she’s doing, but I keep scrubbing the frying pan that I’ve been working on while looking out the window. I don’t look at her, but I can feel her unwavering presence as she stands right next to me.

I hear a small sigh escape her, and I can see that she’s still rocking on her feet while wringing her hands. Something is up, and she needs to spit it out. I’m not going to prompt her.

“Jackson,” she finally says, breaking the awkward silence. 

“Yeah?” I say, still concentrated on the pan. 

She pauses slightly, gathering her gumption. She opens her mouth, but closes it again. 

“Never mind,” she says, and lets out a long breath as she turns on her heel to leave the room. 

I furrow my eyebrows and look over my shoulder, watching her leave. She walks slow, but pauses right before the kitchen turns into the dining room. Her shoulders are tense and I see her take in a big breath before she turns back around.

“Would it be super weird if I wanted you to kiss me again?” she asks, voice timid and barely-there. 

My eyes widen and I’m physically taken aback by her words. Kiss her again? After this whole week of avoiding me and pretending like I don’t exist, not to mention forgetting that what we did ever happened? 

But instead of wasting time in being confused, I dry my hands on a dish towel and cross the room to her. She watches me the whole way, a little section of her lower lip in her mouth, wondering how I’ll answer. 

When I get close enough, I rest my hands on either side of her neck and touch the hinges of her jaw with my thumbs. I spend a moment just holding her like that, looking at her face, studying the features I know I’ll become very familiar with. But right now, they’re new. Right now, her face is alight with possibilities that I can’t yet imagine. 

But I want to. 

I close the distance between us and kiss her, soft and gentle, and she melts against me. She winds her arms around me, pulling her waist flush to mine, and smiles against my mouth. When we pull apart, she’s beaming and her face is blushing pink - in the best way.

There’s no way we can go back to just being friends now, and there’s no way I want to.

No way at all. 


End file.
